


Three Years

by RoseByAnyOtherName17



Series: 30 Day Writing Challenge (Derek/Stiles) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Los Angeles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 12:37:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7640416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseByAnyOtherName17/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek was about this close to gagging Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Years

**Author's Note:**

> Part one of a thirty day writing challenge to get my mind going before school starts up.  
> Beta'd

“Doesn’t being a werewolf make you, like, a walking map or something?” 

“For the last time, shut up,” Derek muttered, but there was no real heat behind it. He didn’t doubt that Stiles wouldn’t have listened if there was. “We wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for you anyways.”

“Right, because I asked for a five-year-old to drop ice cream into my lap,” Stiles snarked. “You know that I’ve started a piggy bank specifically for new phones? I thought once college started this would end, but no, apparently I’m still a walking, talking computer. Well guess what? I can’t be a computer without the internet, which I can’t get to until we get back to the hotel.”

Derek was about this close to gagging Stiles. 

It had been two hours since Stiles’ phone went dead on account of sticky chocolate ice cream working its way into the compartment where the battery was held, and four hours since they’d left the hotel they were staying at in downtown Los Angeles. Chris Argent had informed Derek of what appeared to be a rogue pack smashing its way through the city after convincing the resident hunters to wait until they went on a killing spree. So far, they hadn’t killed anyone, but there was a lot of property damage that had the police scratching their heads, as there was no evidence as to who had caused it.

Stiles was home for winter break, halfway through his third year of college and looking into potential future jobs at Beacon Hills High, when Derek called him. “I need you to come with me to L.A.,” he said without preamble.

“Any chance you’re going to ask politely?”

“I’ll explain on the way. Bring a change of clothes.”

“I haven’t even said yes!” Stiles protested. “Maybe I already have plans.”

“Your plans are to hang out at my loft with Lydia and Scott, eating my food and watching those stupid sitcoms on my TV.”

Stiles glared at the phone as though Derek could see his expression. “You like Mike and Molly, admit it.”

“Twenty minutes.” And then, silence.

So now they were wandering around L.A. without any sense of where they were. Stiles suggested going back to the warehouse that the pack was staying in and waiting for them to return, which Derek stamped on immediately. “We don’t know how they would welcome an unfamiliar Alpha.” 

“And me?”

“They might eat you,” he deadpanned.

“You haven’t yet,” Stiles muttered, but he hadn’t argued anymore.

Derek was trying to figure out just how they had gotten so lost in the first place. They had been within walking distance of the warehouse, and they’d investigated it without any sort of trouble. He’d determined that there were probably four or five in the pack from the look and smell of things, and Stiles confirmed it when he ducked into a small unit off the main room and came out with five different bottles of shampoo. “Clearly they don’t like sharing,” he’d announced, and Derek swallowed the praise he’d been going to give and replaced it with a scowl.

Then Stiles had decided that it was as good a time as any for lunch and promptly led them to a pizza joint three blocks away that he’d found using the GPS on his phone. They sat outside at one of the umbrella-covered tables close to a small park, discussing the possibility of trying to find the pack based on scent alone, when a little girl tripped over her own feet and pressed ice cream all over Stiles’ lap when she tried to catch herself. Derek watched in amusement as Stiles assured her that it was okay and offered to buy her a new cone until her mother came rushing over and pulled her away, looking at them suspiciously. The phone screen went black for the last time two minutes later.

“You couldn’t have kept your phone in your pocket like a normal person?” Derek said now, ducking his head to get a look at the name of the street they were on. 

The stutter in Stiles’ heartbeat was almost imperceptible when covered up by a quick, “I was texting Scott.” Derek looked sideways at him, an eyebrow raised at the lie, but Stiles didn’t meet his gaze.

Stiles finally walked into a shop to ask the sweet old lady at the register where their hotel was, leaving Derek to stand a few feet back and pretend that he wasn’t with the overly-cheerful teenager—except that he wasn’t a teenager anymore, and when had that happened? Derek tried not to focus on it too much, because he was pretty sure that it was also around the same point in time that Stiles turned into the one that he would go to first before anyone else with a problem, and he avoided thinking about that at all times.

The elderly lady pointed them ten blocks back the way they’d come, just as Derek approached with a t-shirt that he was sure Stiles would appreciate. Sure enough, the grin the spread across the other’s face was enough to make Derek smile too, handing it to the clerk. “I take it you boys aren’t from around here,” she said with a chuckle.

“It’s been awhile,” Derek said offhandedly, handing her his card.

“How long have you been together?” she asked next, and he felt Stiles stiffen next to him before he pulled away just enough that their shoulders were no longer touching. 

Before he could even open his mouth, Derek answered, “Three years.”

She bagged the shirt and handed it to Derek, smiling warmly. “I wish you many more,” she said. “Have a lovely vacation, you two.”

It took twenty minutes and four blocks for Stiles to get his voice back. “Why did you tell her that?” he demanded. “We’re not—that’s—what the hell, Derek?”

“You’re the one who spends at least half of every phone call trying to convince me to have a little fun,” Derek said with a smirk. “And think of it this way: we probably made her day. What was the harm?”

“The harm is that it’s about three years off from the truth!” Stiles burst out, and his heartbeat spiked the second Derek stopped to look at him. He watched in amusement as Stiles tried to figure out a way to make it sound like he hadn’t meant exactly what that sounded like, until he just fell silent and stared at the ground. “You’re an asshole,” he mumbled.

Derek took a chance. “You like me anyways,” he said, wrapping a hand around Stiles’ and sighing inwardly when he didn’t immediately pull away. Instead, he shifted so that their fingers were tangled together. 

“We’re talking about this later,” Stiles said. “After we talk to that pack, you’re explaining what the hell is going on so that I don’t go brain-dead trying to figure it out myself.”

“We’ve got a few hours before we have to chat with them,” Derek replied. “I’m sure that’s plenty of time to get a start on that conversation, don’t you?”

Stiles choked on air.


End file.
